


A Symphony Just Begun

by asecretchord



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Classical Music, Education, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asecretchord/pseuds/asecretchord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With most of the students remaining at the castle over the holidays, Dumbledore devises some activities to keep the students occupied. Harry signs up for a Muggle music course and discovers that the least likely person at Hogwarts shares an interest in classical music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Symphony Just Begun

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a sincere thank you to Badgerlady, who is always willing to clean up the messes I make and turn my scribblings into something that's easier to read. I loved writing this and hope you enjoy it! I am not a musician, only an aficionado. All mistakes, musical or otherwise, are my own. As an aside, Sean Connery really did narrate _Young Person's Guide_. It's on YouTube if you want to give it a listen. The fugue from that work is one of my favourite pieces of music.

Harry Potter scrawled his name on the top line of the parchment as he bit back a sigh. Yet another Christmas at Hogwarts. He'd planned—hoped, at any rate—to spend the holidays at the Burrow with his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but his conscience refused to allow him to accept the invitation. Rufus Scrimgeour's Ministry was hanging on by a thread and attacks on Wizarding communities were accelerating at an alarming rate.

Even the _Daily Prophet_ had shifted its tone and was now openly questioning the government's ability to protect its people. Editorials urged everyone to dig out their old Defence textbooks and brush up on their counter-spells. Instead of running adverts for the latest broom in the Meteor series, the few shops that remained open in Diagon Alley were hawking spell disruptor cloaks (perfect for Christmas!) that were guaranteed to turn all dangerous hexes into harmless enchantments. Why, by simply by donning a Baffling Bonnet whilst doing the daily shopping, a witch could cause the Darkest sorceress to forget the incantation to her most dangerous spells. No, it was too dangerous to leave the protection of Hogwarts, so Harry resigned himself to a lonely month in Gryffindor Tower.

By the beginning of December, Harry was surprised to see that the list of students spending the holidays at the castle had filled one sheet of parchment and had continued on another. Nearly a third of the Gryffindors had added their names to the list and he couldn't help but wonder if the same held true in the other Houses.

Well, not Slytherin House, he admitted to himself, though he wouldn't miss a single one of them. There was no reason for the Slytherins to seek the protection of the castle over Christmas. It wasn't like Voldemort would be attacking any of those families. It wouldn't surprise Harry if Voldemort saw a small victory in the number of students who wouldn't be travelling home for the holidays. 

"You didn't have to stay, you know," said Harry as he threw a leg over the bench and sat himself at the Gryffindor table for supper. "I do know how to take care of myself." He reached for the bowl of veg and spooned roasted Brussels sprouts onto his plate.

"Wasn't planning to stay here," replied Ron glumly. He speared a thick slab of meatloaf with his fork and shook it onto his plate as Harry helped himself to a fillet of halibut. A tureen of seasoned rice floated past and Harry managed to snatch a few spoonsful before it managed to get too far away whilst Ron busied himself fashioning a gravy moat in his mound of mashed parsnip. "But Mum said not to come home. The twins are staying in London, Percy's still not speaking with the rest of us, Bill's gone to France and Charlie's staying in Romania, so she and Dad are going on holiday to the Bermuda Triangle."

"Don't you mean they're going to Bermuda? The Bermuda Triangle is in the middle of the ocean, Ron," said Hermione. "That's where all those planes and ships disappear."

"What?" Ron blinked and stared incredulously. "No, there's a huge resort at the Triangle, though I've heard it's unplottable." He gave a shrug and dug into his carrots. "Maybe that's where the ships are. Every once in awhile, a Muggle stumbles across it and gets Confunded. Maybe they get lost trying to find their way back out."

"Could be grindylows," said Neville.

"I think you mean hinkypunks," corrected Hermione. "Though they're usually found in bogs." Her brow furrowed. "I wonder if there's a ocean-based variant that lures ships off course."

"I doubt that would account for the aeroplanes that go missing," said Harry, amused by the look of concentration on Hermione's face. "In any case, I doubt it will appear on any NEWT, so you've nothing to worry about in that respect."

"Haven't you any curiosity at all?" retorted Hermione.

"Oh, loads," said Harry with a grin. "Just not about grindylows and hinkypunks." No, Harry's curiosity ran to wondering what connected all those memories Dumbledore continued to show him, what Malfoy was up to, and why Snape seemed so determined to discover what it was as well. The fact that he found himself wondering upon occasion what Snape looked like under his robes was another such curiosity, but Harry would rather undergo several bouts of the Cruciatus Curse performed by an expert than admit that to anybody.

It had taken two years to admit to himself that the sight of a strong, masculine chest caused heat to pool in his thighs, that the taper of a broad back into the pleasant curve of a tight arse made drawing a full breath difficult, that the imaginary brush of stubble against his cheek would reduce him to a quivering mass of desire.

And then there was Snape, who was none of those things. Snape was lean to the point of being scrawny and if he had any curve to his arse at all, it was well hidden by his formless robes. Harry could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Snape with even a hint of a five o'clock shadow. Still, he had been inside the man's mind—accidentally to be sure—and something of the professor still lingered there, an almost visceral longing for love and acceptance. Harry knew that hunger and it called to something deep inside of him. Snape intrigued him and fascinated him, and that was a dangerous combination.

"Besides, I doubt we need to worry about an attack from the sea. It's not like—"

The insistent tapping of a knife against a crystal goblet interrupted Harry's train of thought and his eyes turned automatically to the head table where Dumbledore stood at an ornate podium. "May I have your attention, please?"

A hush fell over the Great Hall, except at the Slytherin table where whispers hissed against the stone walls like a snake seeking food. Harry arched a questioning eyebrow and gazed around his table in the off-chance that someone knew why Dumbledore was making an announcement. Hermione shook her head slightly, her curls bouncing against her shoulders as she did.

"Seeing as a great number of students will be remaining at Hogwarts over Christmas, I have asked the professors to create some classes for you to engage in during the holidays." A fierce muttering broke out, the undercurrent of anger and resentment unsettling Harry. The skin at the nape of his neck crawled as he shivered in apprehension.

"Now, lest you think you will be receiving additional instruction in Defence Against the Dark Arts or Transfiguration, think again." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled in merriment. He was enjoying this, whatever _this_ was. "What you may not know is that many of our professors have interests in subjects other than those they teach, and it is in those areas that I have asked them to prepare lessons. Notices will appear in your common rooms after supper and I encourage you to sign up for at least one course. Remember, these are all voluntary and meant to be fun. With that said, I trust you will enjoy your pudding."

At the head table, Snape scowled and McGonagall sighed and shook her head. Pomona Sprout murmured something and McGonagall smiled tightly and nodded. Harry exchanged a look with Ron, who shrugged. Ginny stared in confusion at Dean and Neville, who stared back.

"I wonder if it's too late to sign up to stay," said Seamus. "Me mam has invited her brother and my cousins to spend the holidays with us, so there will be a houseful of screaming heathens underfoot. I'd almost prefer extra Charms lessons to that."

"I wonder what sort of lessons the teachers have in mind," said Hermione as she continued to study the professors as they picked at their desserts and sipped their evening tea. 

"No idea," said Harry, "but I'll bet it doesn't involve ocean-dwelling hinkypunks." The dinner roll Hermione lobbed in his direction hit him just above his left eye, and Harry laughed.

~*~

When Harry and the others returned to the Gryffindor common room, they found a dozen fliers posted on the notice board. Some glittered, others wafted enticing aromas. All drew their attention and a crowd gathered. "Listen to this," chirped Colin Creevey as he read aloud. "Play Quidditch the Muggle way! Instead of soaring on brooms, you will know the pleasure of passing a football across the pitch to a midfielder waiting to cross-kick it for a goal. But will the Keeper be able to stop the team from scoring? By the end of the week, you will feel fit as a fiddle and understand the offside rule well enough to explain it to your friends." Colin turned and faced them with dancing eyes. "Footie? Here?" A broad grin appeared. "I'm for this!"

"Muggle Quidditch?" Ron turned to Harry, clearly bewildered. "What do they use for Bludgers? I mean, they must have Beaters, right?"

Harry shook his head. "No Beaters, and you only get one point for scoring, though it's bloody hard to do." He rose up onto his toes and tried to see the posters over the heads of the younger years gathered in front of him. "What else is up there?"

"Oooh!" exclaimed a voice. "Indonesian cooking! Do you think we'll get to eat what we make?"

"Mom. Samba," moaned another. "Mie ayah. My mouth is already watering."

The words meant nothing to Harry. He was happy enough with meat and veg, with the occasional treacle tart for afters.

"Who's teaching the Indonesian cooking class?" asked Parvati.

"No idea. The professors aren't listed."

Harry wriggled closer to the board and called back to Ron and the others as he read the titles. "There's a pottery class," he announced.

"You teaching that one, Harry?" asked Nicholas Hooper with a wink.

"Only how to break it." Harry rattled off a few more subjects. There were classes in ballroom dancing, archery and fencing, and managing Galleons. Someone, probably Snape, was giving instruction on martial arts, and another teacher was promising peace of mind during OWLs and NEWTs with Hatha Yoga. "Oh, here's one, Ron. Aerobatics for brooms. I'll bet that's with Hooch."

Ginny shook her head. "Dumbledore said the classes were outside the teachers' areas, so it must be someone else." Her face scrunched up as she thought. "I've no idea who'd be teaching that. What's left?"

"Who cares? Sign us up for the flying one, mate," said Ron. Harry was about to add their names when he noticed the lines disappearing at a frightening rate. He managed to get Ron's name added, but there was no room on the parchment for his own. He glanced at the fliers, saw one about Muggle music and added his name to it.

"Better get in there, Hermione," he advised as he pushed his way out of the throng. "The spots are vanishing pretty quickly."

"I already added my name and Ginny's to the archery class." Hermione flashed him a knowing grin. "Magic, Harry. The root of the charm is _Scribere_. I just added Ginny to the spell I cast." 

The thought of Ginny with a bow and arrow made Harry very glad to have missed that class. Ron's sister was dangerous enough with just a wand. He shuddered to think of her with a crossbow and quarrel. And Hermione would be lucky not to lose a limb to an edged weapon. She was definitely the smartest witch Harry knew, but she was about as coordinated as Victor Krum on dry land.

"What about you?" continued Hermione. "What did you sign up for?"

"That music one," said Harry with a shrug. A couple of hours a day listening to music. How bad could that be? Odd, though, that it was limited to twelve students.

Hermione hid a laugh behind her hand. "Oh, Harry. Didn't you read the notice? It's about orchestras. You know, the classics."

Whirling quickly, Harry returned to the notice board, a cold lump of dread congealing in his stomach, though not for the reasons anyone would suspect. Other than spiders and Dudley's broken toys, his one constant companion during the days he spent in his cupboard was the soothing sounds of the symphonies, sonatas, and concertos broadcast by BBC3. Aunt Petunia tuned in whenever the telly wasn't blaring in an attempt to "provide a little cultural entertainment." Dudley and Vernon could watch whatever they pleased the rest of the time, but at nine o'clock the wireless went on, and Aunt Petunia would sit with a nightcap and listen to that evening's performance.

At first, the sounds were so much noise and nonsense, but as Harry grew older the sounds began to make sense. It became relaxing to lie in the dark and listen as the logic and order of a Bruckner symphony emerged. He started to notice the differences between Beethoven and Brahms and could sometimes tell Ravel and Debussy apart. Favourites began to emerge and he'd wonder how many more days before they'd play something by Sibelius again. There were times, late at night, when he wondered how the magical world got on without music in it, but then he discovered the Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck and knew all hope wasn't lost.

One lesson, though, had been hammered home—very nearly literally. Harry must never, ever mention aloud that he enjoyed classical music. Not unless he wanted a sound thrashing at his cousin's hands. Or suffer the endless gibes and taunts for being a limp-wristed nelly boy from his uncle, as if the only men who enjoyed the classics were gay. Had they never listened to Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_? Stravinsky's _Rite of Spring_? There were times Harry desperately wished his uncle would be impaled by a cello bow, but it was unlikely Uncle Vernon would ever get close enough to one for that to become a reality.

Harry plastered a twisted grimace on his face. "Well, I suppose I could sign up for Yoga instead," he managed as Ron arched his hands over his head in a caricature of a ballerina and pranced through the motions of a pirouette. "Yoga, you berk."

"From two until five o'clock every day for a week," Neville pointed out. "What are you going to do for that long every day?"

"Listen to music?" Harry's eyes cut to the side as he glanced at Hermione. "I dunno. Maybe learn something? There are worse things."

"Yeah," said Ron. "It could be with Snape."

~*~

On the first Monday of his holiday break, Harry joined the others at the Gryffindor house table at lunch time to hear about the classes that had met that morning. Hermione and Ginny were both sporting blisters on their fingers and what appeared to be rope burns on their right cheeks. Ginny even had a plaster on her right temple, and Harry couldn't imagine what might have happened to cause a flesh wound.

Hermione appeared completely exhausted. Her brown eyes were dull and her shoulders drooped clear down to her waist. Her hair, barely manageable at the best of times, gave her the appearance of taking styling instruction from Medusa. "McGonagall is teaching," she exhaled in a voice barely above a whisper. "If you thought she was demanding in Transfiguration…"

McGonagall? Teaching archery? And fencing? Harry turned in his seat and stared up at his Head of House. He caught Dumbledore's eye instead and shook his head at the mirth dancing in those blue eyes. "That would explain the blisters," said Harry. Whatever McGonagall had them doing, there was no doubt she made them repeat it a thousand times until they got it right. "What happened to Ginny?"

"I got my hair caught in the bow," Ginny replied sourly. "And it tore a huge piece of scalp off along with it. That was when McGonagall mentioned hair ties. I'm going to see Pomfrey after I've had a bite to eat and see if she can fix it. McGonagall said it might leave a bald spot." Ginny shuddered. It wasn't that she was particularly vain, but a bald spot was a bald spot and no one Harry knew wanted one. "Where's Ron?" she continued. "I might see if there's room in the flying class."

"He's not—" began Harry, but the doors to the Great Hall opened and a fair sized group of students trooped in. To a person, they were all a peculiar shade of teal, as though they were all nauseated and half frozen to death as well. The colour clashed miserably with Ron's red hair.

Ron staggered up the aisle in a jerking, stiff-legged walk. He stood behind the bench, took a deep breath, and lifted his right leg with both hands to step over the bench. Turning a bit, he repeated the process with his left leg before seating himself in a controlled fall. "T-t-tea," he chattered through blue lips and Harry hastened to comply.

Ron wrapped his hands around the mug and sat with his eyes closed, a blissful expression appearing on his face. After a few minutes, he cracked an eye open. "You can have my spot. I'll go listen to music instead."

Harry studied Ron for a long minute before shaking his head. "I think Ginny might want it after the morning she had. Who's teaching it?"

The word was one very short syllable. "Pince." Ron's eyes were as big as saucers. "She's a maniac, Harry. You thought a Wronski Feint was scary? She can do one whilst in a handstand on the broom handle and back flip off to land on her feet. She'll fly past so close that the bristles touch. And let's not talk about flying in formation." The greenish tinge rose in his face and washed away some of the blue.

"Pince? Madam Pince? Who runs the library? A flying genius?" Harry looked around the Great Hall and recognised on others the same bewildered expression he knew he wore. Suddenly, the light from the floating candles flickered as the candlesticks rearranged themselves into some strange pattern Harry couldn't make out.

The tall, oak centre door opened with a great crash and a figure on a broom swept by inches over their heads. The flyer circled the Hall once, then wove in and out of the candles. She circled and rolled, flying straight up and then barrelling down so swiftly Harry thought she'd punch a hole right through the Hufflepuff table. She looped and twisted and seemed to fly in circles around herself before aiming right at Dumbledore and streaking through the air in a blur. The broom shot straight up and the flyer launched herself through the air like a trapeze artist, landing with a dramatic twist to face the terrified—and terribly impressed—students.

"Put your books away when you're through with them," she barked before Summoning her broom with a snap of her fingers and tearing out of there as though chased by a thousand Dementors.

Harry stared at Ron. "Umm…" he said weakly. "I'll stay with the music class, if it's all the same to you." He turned his head and watched the doorway for a moment, just in case she flew back through it. "Good luck, mate," he added fervently, thinking to himself that Madam Pomfrey was going to have a very busy week. He busied himself with a sandwich and, just as he was about to take a bite, Colin Creevey stumbled in.

Colin blew out a breath and flopped onto the bench a few seats down from Harry. "You will never guess who's teaching the football class." Before Harry could so much as hazard a guess, and at this point he was very nearly afraid to, Colin continued. "Slughorn. Can you believe it? Slughorn is teaching us footie. He's got us in the Room of Requirement passing footballs to each other and running laps around the pitch."

That would explain the bright red cheeks and breathlessness. "Do you suppose I could switch into the cooking class?" asked Colin plaintively. "He _does_ know what he's on about, I'll give him that, but, Harry, he waddles when he runs, and he huffs and puffs like an old, fat walrus. We're all afraid he's going to keel over."

It was hard to picture Horace Slughorn as a football enthusiast. Harry knew him to be a bit of a hedonist, quite obviously devoted to the finer things in life. The mere idea of Slughorn sweaty and dishevelled was laughable, although Harry had to admit he really knew very little about the man—besides Slughorn's regrettable penchant for collecting people. "Are you certain it was Slughorn?" asked Harry dubiously. "Maybe it was Hooch or Vector or, you know, someone younger."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Why would they go to the trouble of taking some Polyjuice and turning themselves into someone, well, elderly? Honestly, Harry. Slughorn probably took some Pepperup before he taught the class. Besides, I heard from Padma that Hooch is teaching the personal finance course. She hasn't got time for football, too."

Giving Colin a warm smile, she asked, "The important thing is did you have fun?"

"Oh, loads." Colin beamed and appeared happier than he had done in ages. "There were about forty of us all told, enough for two full sides and reservists. Everyone should have a turn if we play a full match." A touch of smugness entered his expression. "Some of the purebloods are discovering just how challenging footie can be. You'd think they'd never run anywhere before."

"Just how do you play this 'fittie' anyway?" asked Ron between mouthfuls of soup. "The notice said it's Muggle Quidditch, but I'm not sure how it works without Beaters. It'd be like playing chess without pawns."

"First, it's footie, as in football. Not 'fittie', as in…whatever 'fittie' might stand for." Colin then launched into a long-winded explanation, using various goblets and cruets as advancing and opposing players. An animated serviette served as a fairly serviceable replacement for a football, though Colin lamented his inability to get the black and white checkerboard pattern to come out right. Ron was a bit stymied by the concept of 'out of bounds' but thought he'd enjoy tackling people.

"Sounds a bit brutal, to be honest," he remarked.

Colin laughed. "If you think footie is brutal, you ought to look into rugby. Those blokes are nutters. It's not a real match without a few broken bones." Harry glanced around the Great Hall as Colin continued to regale them with stories of Slughorn coaching footie. Everywhere he looked he saw clusters of students gabbing excitedly (or not) about the lesson they'd just completed whilst the students who had yet to embark upon their own listened keenly. 

From what he could tell, Professor Burbage was teaching ballroom dancing. To no one's surprise, Neville had signed up. Terry Boot and Hannah Abbott were learning about Indonesian cooking from Professor Flitwick along with the four Gryffindors who had added their names to his roster. And Cho Chang and Anthony Goldstein were training crups in basic obedience. They were less than six hours into their holiday and it was already proving to be very entertaining.

~*~

At long last it was time for him to wend his way up to the fifth floor for his Mysteries of Muggle Music lesson. Harry stood with a groan and heaved a sigh as he stepped over one of the heavy benches that lined either side of the Gryffindor table. Hermione began to voice some sympathy for his plight but the giggle that escaped half-way through made her attempt sound somewhat less than sincere.

Ron caught his eye as he started towards the tall oaken doors at the back of the Hall. "A bit surprised you're going, mate. You don't reckon it'll be a chorus full of Celestina Warbeck, do you?"

Harry grimaced. "Could be anything, I suppose." He offered Ron a sickly grin. "Can't be worse than hearing Mermish above ground. Remember the clue that was in that egg?"

Ron winced and covered his ears. He cracked open an eye. "Maybe you can get a bit of a kip. Just don't snore."

With only a dozen students in the class, Harry didn't think he'd be able to sleep without being noticed. "I'll keep that in mind," he said and hurried to the Grand Staircase.

It took a bit of effort to find the classroom. It was toward the end of a dimly lit corridor lined with paintings of mythological beings cavorting to harps and flutes and drums and lyres. It was rather eerie, all things considered, since the figures in the paintings were moving, but Harry couldn't hear the music they were dancing to. He paused in front of a satyr, half-man, half-goat, plucking the strings of a crwth as a bevy of maidens leapt and swirled. The satyr paused and one of the girls wagged a finger at him as she scowled. Harry shook his head as he moved on, spying a door that was slightly ajar.

To Harry's surprise, he found himself in a tiny theatre. There was a small stage at the front of the room, the worn floorboards lit by flickering lanterns and torches set near the wings. A wind-up phonograph player just like Professor McGonagall's stood in the middle of the stage, its petal-like trumpet staring balefully out at the audience. Ancient dark velvet curtains fluttered weakly at the wings, reminding Harry of little more than dying Dementors. He glanced at the steeply terraced seats, six rows of six seats each, with a centre aisle dividing them, and found a small murder of Ravenclaws clustered in the left half of the front row. Two Hufflepuffs sat in the third row, one on either side of the centre aisle, and a Slytherin had claimed the last row opposite the Ravenclaws for herself.

With a sideways glance at the Slytherin, Harry turned to his left and took the last seat nearest the corner. No one could sneak up behind him and his wand hand was furthest from the wall, giving him a clear line should anyone be foolish enough to try to hex him.

Three more students entered the theatre: a youngish Gryffindor, another Ravenclaw, and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff. She blinked when she noticed him and headed in his direction, choosing the middle seat of the row right in front of his. "I didn't know you liked music, Harry," she whispered.

"Misread the notice," Harry whispered back. "I saw 'Music' and figured it would be the Weird Sisters. Saw 'Muggle' and thought maybe it would be like Oasis or something. Turns out I was wrong." Two more Slytherins walked in and sat down on opposite sides of the room, followed closely by a third-year Gryffindor Harry vaguely recognised.

"I hope you like violins," whispered Susan with a sad smile. "My mum and dad used to take me to hear the opera when we travelled to London to visit my aunt and turns out I like it." Her eyes took on a faraway cast Harry knew all too well. "I miss them." The lights flickered and she settled back in her seat whilst Harry did the same, an awkward silence settling around them.

He never knew how to respond when people said things like that. He missed Sirius every minute of every day, but he managed to push that anguish to a dark corner of his mind and keep his focus on bigger problems, like Draco Malfoy and whatever scheme he was up to his blond eyebrows in.

What was he up to? No sooner had Harry begun to ruminate on the possibilities than the lights went out, plunging the tiny theatre into absolute darkness. Someone hiccoughed out a tiny shriek and one of the Ravenclaws whispered "Lumos," only to have his wand go flying through the air and vanish in the blackness.

Harry's wand hand twitched, but he had seen firsthand the consequences of using magic, so he perched on the edge of his seat and listened intently for the sound of danger, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

The sound was low, deep, ominous, and it took Harry a moment to understand what he was hearing. There was a melody hidden in the quiet murmurings of the cellos and basses. A shiver ran down his spine as the notes descended lower and lower. There was a heartbeat of silence and then the violins entered, their rhythmic whisperings lending a sense of urgency before the plaintive cry of an oboe broke the quiet hush.

Harry sat up in surprise. He knew that song! It had been years since he'd listened last, but it was the voice of a familiar friend and the tension left his body as he relaxed back into his seat to immerse himself fully in the music. To his credit, he didn't hum along. Silence was a habit he'd learnt as a small child. Vernon couldn't pretend Harry didn't exist if Harry made noise, so Harry learnt quickly that he'd be ignored much longer if he kept as still as possible, even in his cupboard.

As he listened, he found himself remembering the Department of Mysteries and the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort. There was real power in the two melodies that wove around each other, one dark, one light, and it was challenging to decide which side was winning, but the music at long last returned to the beginning where, to the cellos' dismay, the violins lay in wait. They took over and brought with them a ray of hope. When the final chord sounded, Harry smiled, feeling as though he'd just fought a battle and had emerged bloodied, but a bit wiser.

"That," intoned a deep, familiar voice, "was the first movement of Shubert's _Unfinished Symphony_." Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared into the darkness in horror. Dim light shone from the stage and Snape emerged from the shadows to glare balefully in Harry's direction. "I don't expect many of you have listened to it before today, but before you leave you will be intimately familiar with it—provided you have the intelligence of a cuttlefish."

"I don't know," remarked Harry. "Cuttlefish are rumoured to be quite bright, actually." Every head turned to stare at him and Harry wondered if there was something pathologically wrong with him that caused him to bait Snape at every turn. It wasn't that he wanted the man's attention, but he'd never be able to prove that by his behaviour.

"You are fortunate, Mr Potter, that we are between terms. I, however, am patient enough to wait until classes resume to assign you the detention you so richly deserve." Snape drew a deep breath and forcibly dragged his attention away from Harry. "The first movement of the _Unfinished Symphony_ is in what is known as sonata form." Thus began a lecture that tore apart the music and put it back together again in a way that, to Harry's surprise, actually enhanced his understanding of it.

At one point, Snape Summoned a piano from off-stage, an impressive bit of magic to Harry's way of thinking since it glided soundlessly to a spot near centre stage and settled into place without a single discordant note. Snape seated himself on the bench that had accompanied it and plucked out the opening phrase, which, for reasons Harry didn't quite understand, he labelled 'Part One.' He then played Part Two, which Harry recognised as the bit the oboe had done.

"Some cretin," growled Snape, "wrote lyrics for the second theme. I shall take it as a personal affront should I hear any of you sing that phrase, and given your performance in your Defence classes, no one can afford to get on my bad side." Automatically, heads turned once again to glance at Harry, who immediately adopted an expression of confusion. On Snape's bad side? Him? Impossible—except for the fact he'd literally been born there. He was almost certain it had even been listed on the registration of his birth. _Snape's bad side, Godric's Hollow_.

Snape played the second theme. Somehow, Harry managed to keep himself from remarking that there couldn't be a second theme since there wasn't a first theme, but one of the braver Hufflepuffs drew Snape's ire by asking the obvious question. "Part one and part two make up the first theme. Schubert broke the rules." He glared at Harry as though he'd had something to do with that. "Though, in his case, it is fully supported by the music."

Suddenly, a stack of cards distributed themselves throughout the theatre. There was a red card with a gold 'A', a blue card with a bronze 'B' and a green card with a silver '2'. Harry shuffled them and turned them over, but the reverse was blank. "You will listen to the piece again, this time holding aloft the appropriate card when you hear the corresponding theme or a variation upon it."

The needle dropped onto the record and Harry waited through the crackles and hisses before holding his red card aloft. There was no introductory phrase; Schubert started right in. The oboe and clarinet entered—Harry hadn't known they were together—and he exchanged his red card for the blue one. As he listened, it came as a bit of a shock that he was holding a card up more often than he wasn't and he was pleasantly amazed by the intricacy of it all. At one point, Harry could swear he felt his magic swirling around him, rising and falling with the music. He glanced at the phonograph and found Snape studying him, deep furrows etched in the man's brow as though confronted by a perplexing problem.

The remainder of the time passed in a blur. Snape had them listen again and again until every single person could identify each phrase almost every single time. As a reward—though Harry didn't know for what—Snape 'allowed' them to listen to the second movement and then dismissed them for the day. It had been both exhilarating and exhausting, though Harry could honestly say he would be happy if he didn't hear that piece again for the next ten years or so.

~*~

"You're awake," said Ron as Harry walked mindlessly into the Great Hall for supper. "So, was it Flitwick? He runs the chorus, you know."

"It was Snape," said Harry tonelessly. "Snape, who has a thing for Schubert." He sat at the Gryffindor table and pulled a dish of roasted asparagus towards him.

"Who?" Ron glanced around the Great Hall, as though trying to figure out who Schubert was. "Is he in Slytherin?"

"He's a composer, you dolt," sniffed Hermione as she filled their goblets with pumpkin juice. "Honestly, Ron. Have you ever heard an orchestra before?" She placed a filet of sole on her plate and squeezed a bit of lemon onto it.

"Not on purpose!" Ron rolled his eyes. It was clear he thought that anyone who would willingly listen to music written before he was born must have something wrong with them.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione. "Professor Snape and classical music both. Maybe there's still room in another course."

"It wasn't bad," admitted Harry, "all things considered. I mean, it's Snape, which means it was a bit of a mutual loathing society, but he did know what he was on about, so there's that." He glanced up at the Head Table and found Snape gazing expressionlessly at him. Harry felt his cheeks grow hot and turned his attention to the tureen of beef gravy floating past. He ladled some onto his plate, realising as he did so that he'd just covered his fish with it.

He glanced up to find Hermione looking at him, one eyebrow arched in question. He shook his head. Harry did not want to explain why he felt so flustered, especially since he wasn't entirely certain of the answer. He stabbed at the next platter that went past and sighed, hoping that salmon and gravy tasted better than it looked. He tossed some long-grained rice on top and stirred the whole mess together before settling in to eat.

Even Ron was horror-struck. "Harry…" he began weakly before exchanging an alarmed look with Hermione.

"Really, I had no idea she could bend like that," chattered Lavender as she sat down. "But it feels so good. Just heavenly." She rubbed the top of her hip. "Except when I fell over. She says I need to work on strengthening my core."

"Who says that?" ventured Nicholas, blushing as he spoke. Harry suspected that Nicholas had joined the legions of fourth and fifth years who had a bit of a thing for Lavender Brown. Personally, he didn't see the attraction.

"Professor Sprout," said Lavender. "She's teaching the Yoga class."

Harry's head whipped 'round so fast he thought he sprained his neck. Neville merely nodded. "She says it's the perfect way to start her morning. Then she goes out and works in one of the greenhouses for a bit. Wakes her right up." He gave a lopsided smile. "She has me doing it, too. It's a good warm-up before shovelling dragon dung."

"That explains it, then," said Harry as he pushed his plate way. The mess he had concocted was revolting. To his relief, the plate vanished and a clean one took its place. This time, he was far more selective about what he chose to eat. Up at the Head Table, Snape's lips curved into an evil grin, as though satisfied that Harry had proven he was every bit the idiot Snape suspected him to be. Harry glared back and turned his attention to his supper.

~*~

The little theatre was brightly lit the next afternoon when Harry took his seat. Unlike the day before, the curtains were closed, though the phonograph still stood in front of them. Today there was a small stack of recordings on the table next to it and Harry wondered what Snape had in store for them.

Susan took her seat in front of him. "I have no idea what to expect," she said in the soft voice endemic to concert halls the whole world 'round. "I never suspected Professor Snape would be teaching this class. I thought it would be Flitwick or Vector."

"Professor Vector?"

Susan smiled. "There's a certain mathematical precision to music, don't you think? All those rhythms and notes? There has to be some order to it or it's just noise. And since Vector teaches Arithmancy, it seemed logical. But she's teaching the class on pottery and ceramics."

"Is she?" This holiday had been one revelation after another. Harry had nearly fallen from his chair upon hearing that Sybill Trelawney was teaching martial arts. It made more sense, though, when he learnt it was some meditative form of tai chi. That Vector would teach pottery shouldn't come as such a surprise. "I don't know who's taking her course."

"Loads of people from my House," said Susan. "Mostly the younger years. They're still keen on making messes and building things."

Harry had no artistic ability whatsoever. He couldn't even diagram a Quidditch play and have it make sense. Trying to create something recognisable out of a lump of clay was, to him, as impossible as flying without a broom. "As long as they have fun, I suppose."

"They will." Susan offered a friendly smile, but it vanished the moment Snape stepped onto the stage. She spun in her seat and sat quietly as a hush fell swiftly over the small group.

"Yesterday," said Snape, "we reviewed in some detail the workings of the first movement of the _Unfinished Symphony_. Today, we will begin to explore the family of instruments that comprise the modern orchestra. Much like Hogwarts," Snape's eyes cut towards Harry, "the orchestra can be greater than the sum of its parts, provided each section follows the rules."

It was all Harry could do to keep from rolling his eyes. It wasn't as though the French horns were going to foment rebellion in the middle of a third movement any more than Gryffindor was going to incite a riot during lunch.

"I presume, Mr Potter, that you can name the four groups of instruments?"

"You presume correctly," replied Harry, his eyes guileless. "Sir," he added hastily as Snape's expression began to darken.

"That will be two detentions once the term begins." Snape paced from one end of the small stage to the other. "As Mr Potter did not feel the need to share his knowledge, I will tell you that a symphonic orchestra consists of the string section, woodwinds, brass, and percussion." He strode to the phonograph and gently set the needle down on the black vinyl spinning lazily on the turntable. "However, merely knowing an orchestra has four families helps little if one does not know the sounds each family produces. To aid in that endeavour, we shall listen now to _The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra_ , written by composer Benjamin Britten and based on a theme by Henry Purcell."

As the recording started, one of the Ravenclaws sat bolt upright. "That's James Bond!"

"Who?" It was Susan Bones, and Harry understood why the name would be unfamiliar to her.

"He's a spy for MI-5. You know, British Intelligence," said Harry. "My uncle watches him on the telly, but my cousin likes the new one better."

There was a bit of a screech and the recording stopped. "James Bond is a fictional character created by Ian Fleming. The narrator is an actor by the name of Sean Connery." Snape's eyes narrowed. "The next person who interrupts will find themselves serving detention with Mr Potter." He started the recording again and Harry settled back to listen.

The piece was a bit juvenile, the narration about as subtle as a Bludger to the head, but Harry conceded it did an excellent job of introducing the concept of themes and voices. Each instrument was presented in turn, and it was hard to imagine that anyone in the room didn't know what a trumpet was.

It was when they finally reached the fugue that Harry sat up, his green eyes gleaming as Britten's music passed from section to section. By the time the brass shouted Henry Purcell's theme over the frenetic sounds of the strings, he was beaming. His heart pounded and it was all he could do to stay seated. When the final chord rang through the hall, he and a few others burst into applause.

Harry looked over just in time to see Snape school his features into their familiar unpleasantness, but he hadn't missed the look of shock that appeared there, almost as if Snape had been fascinated with something. Or someone.

"For the next part of the lesson," announced Snape, "you will turn your attention to Richard Abernathy of the Knightsbridge Philharmonia." Snape's wand twitched and the curtains flew open to reveal a stage full of percussion instruments. There were bass drums and kettle drums, glockenspiels and marimbas. There were wood blocks and triangles and drums of all sizes. There was a huge gong and an enormous set of chimes that were taller than Harry. Music stands dotted the stage and Harry's nerves started to flutter.

"As Severus told you, I am Richard Abernathy and I am a percussionist. We have drums and sticks or mallets enough for everyone, so come to the stage and find something to bang on." Abernathy gestured broadly and stepped back. His inviting smile revealed dimples and Harry was reminded a bit of Gilderoy Lockhart, though without the preening or oversized ego. Abernathy was friendlier and definitely less flamboyant. His robes were dark blue and the trim made Harry wonder if the man had once been in Ravenclaw.

Harry trotted down the centre aisle a step or two ahead of Susan and the Slytherin, but behind nearly everyone else. He clambered up onto the stage and hung back by the rack of chimes, not certain what he was supposed to do. Before long, however, everyone, including Snape, had found a place near something that made noise.

"There will be sticks and mallets nearby," said Abernathy. "Go crazy." He grinned, his blue eyes alight with mischief. Harry liked him at once. A tentative tinkling came from the triangle and Harry's eyes cut over to see the smallest Hufflepuff tapping one side very gently with a silver rod.

"Oh, come now. You can do better than that." Abernathy strode over to a pair of crash cymbals Harry hadn't noticed and banged them together with all his might. The sound was deafening and Harry jumped about a foot. An intense roll of thunder boomed across the stage and Harry blinked when he saw Snape standing in the centre of an array of kettle drums, timpani, pounding furiously on the largest of the four.

Harry picked up the mallets and struck one of the chimes hard. It rang like a church bell. Someone banged on the gong whilst a Slytherin began pounding on a snare drum. Moments later, it sounded like giants were attacking the castle as bangs and booms thundered through the theatre. Harry beat indiscriminately on the chimes and Susan was pounding so hard on a tom tom that Harry was surprised it didn't break. Perhaps it was therapeutic for her.

Several minutes later, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos and Harry looked up to see Abernathy make a gesture that could only mean 'stop'. He stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides, the mallets still clutched tightly in his fingers.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a delightful noise." Abernathy grinned. "But we want to make music. Severus, could you play the percussion bit from the Britten again?"

From his position at the timpani, Snape gestured with his wand and the needle fell unerringly in place. They listened as the drums played an unmistakeable tune. Harry found himself looking over the instruments as his mind worked out which one was playing when.

"To turn noise into music, one must be able to decipher the code." From inside his robes, Abernathy drew what had to be a wand, but looked more like one of the drumsticks littering the stage. He waved it and a portable chalkboard appeared, though this one had a series of five lines across it, repeated over and over.

"This is a staff," explained Abernathy. "And this is a clef." Something that resembled a cross between a backwards 'S' and a stick appeared. "And this is a clef…" This time it was a line and '3'. "And this is a clef." This was sort of ear shaped with a colon behind it. Thus began a bewildering descent into musical notation. Harry learnt about lines and spaces. About crochets and quavers. About time signatures and key signatures. About when to play and when to rest.

They learnt about rudiments. Left, right, left right. About when to let the stick bounce and when it shouldn't. They learnt about little x's for when a drum should play and little triangles for, well, triangles. They learnt that timpani play specific notes and bass drums just play. And they each got to play all of the instruments on the stage.

"For drummers," said Abernathy towards the end of the lesson, "timing is everything. If a drummer comes in too late or too early, the entire orchestra can run amuck. But as tricky as it is to know when to play, it's even harder when you have to play the same thing over and over and over again." He moved to the old phonograph and exchanged one record for another.

"Let's see how well you do with this. It's a simple rhythm, but you have to play it over again and play it perfectly every time." He had them all pick up ordinary drumsticks and moved them to rubber pads designed for practising. Then he taught them how it went. It took several tries until they could do it more or less in unison, but when Abernathy was happy with it, he cut them off and dropped the needle.

"Join in when you think you've got it and keep going until you make a mistake. When you do, sit down," he instructed. Then he started _Bolero_ and played along with it. For the first three or four measures, Harry thought it was ridiculously easy, but it soon proved to be anything but. He found himself focussing intently on what his hands were doing, on trying to get the triplets in the right place, on keeping to the left-right-left-right pattern.

One by one they fell to the wayside. When Harry fell out, there were still four of his classmates playing. Two more dropped out about four measures later until there was Snape, Abernathy, and the tiny Hufflepuff. She lasted through the first third of the piece and when she finally made a mistake, the entire class applauded her efforts. Snape stepped away as well, leaving Abernathy to carry on alone. By the end, Harry had a new appreciation for the musicianship involved in performing it.

"Thank you all for your efforts today," said Abernathy after he had taken a well-deserved bow. "And thank you to Severus for inviting me back to Hogwarts." The applause was far less enthusiastic. "I have a booklet for each of you that covers everything we reviewed in this lesson. You may wish to read it tonight in order to prepare for tomorrow's lesson." Large booklets fluttered through the air until each of them had taken one. "Now, do I have any volunteers to help me pack up?"

Nearly everyone swarmed the stage. Drums were packed in cases, cymbals in lined sacks. There was a lined cover for the chimes and an accessory case for the woodblocks and tambourines. Harry set his booklet down near the wings and helped collapse the drum stands, nestling them together until everything fit in a wheeled crate designed for just that purpose. He listened as Abernathy explained to the two Ravenclaws that the instruments couldn't travel by magic, but that the house-elves would pack the lorry parked just outside Hogwarts' gates.

Once the stage was empty, Harry turned to leave with everyone else. Halfway down the corridor, he realised he'd left his booklet behind and returned to retrieve it. The theatre was dark and he made his way cautiously down the stairs. He bent to pick up the booklet and paused when he heard voices.

"It was good to see you again. It's been too long, Severus."

Harry snatched up the booklet and flattened himself against the wall, his heart thudding. Something in Abernathy's voice told him this was supposed to be a private conversation. Cautiously, he peered around the corner and found Snape and Abernathy pressed against each other.

"I am sorry, Richard," murmured Snape. "It is dangerous for me to leave the castle. Surely you aren't so far removed from this world that you've no idea of the risks involved."

"I heard about the disaster at the Ministry last spring. Something about the Potter boy and You-Know-Who. I trust you weren't involved?" There was a note of anxiety in Richard's voice that Harry found alarming.

"No…" Snape prevaricated. "Though Dumbledore is in it up to his bushy eyebrows."

"I thought as much. And it's true the Potter boy is here?"

_Don't say it. Don't say it_ , pleaded Harry silently.

"He's in Gryffindor House." The contempt in Snape's voice spoke volumes, but to Harry's relief, Snape made no mention of the fact that Harry had been one of Abernathy's percussion students.

Abernathy chuckled. "Some things never change." He smiled into Snape's eyes and, to Harry's horror, their lips met.

In a heartbeat, Harry's world turned upside down. _He's mine!_ he thought, so furious he saw red. A feral wave of jealousy, hot and seething, burned through him and he found himself taking a step forward, ready to separate them by force. Suddenly, he froze, so shaken by the thought that he could barely draw breath. Spinning on his heel, he sprinted up the steps and crashed through the door. He bolted down the corridor, pausing only when he reached the landing of the Grand Stair.

Where had that thought come from? His eyes darted about as he searched for someplace he could sit and think for awhile. There was a boys' toilet near the Arithmancy classroom and Harry tore down the hallway, grabbing the newel post and swinging around the corner as he dashed headlong towards the bathroom.

He bolted through the door and dashed to the mirror, staring at his reflection. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were wide with alarm. Was he smitten with Snape? He thought his morbid fascination was idle curiosity, nothing more, but the rage at seeing that Abernathy bloke snog Snape was not the product of his imagination. His reaction had been visceral, as though a fistful of Floo powder had ignited in his heart.

Harry never considered himself to be jealous or possessive. He had barely blinked when Cho Chang paraded into the Great Hall on Cedric Diggory's arm for the opening of the Yule Ball. He noted with mild interest who Ginny Weasley was dating, but never felt strongly about it one way or another. Given the opportunity, though, he'd cheerfully tear Richard Abernathy's arms off and beat the man to death with them.

He gazed steadily into the mirror. "You want him. You want Severus Snape. No point in lying to yourself about it, he's the one you want. He's twice your age and ugly to boot, but there's something about him…" Harry had no idea what. When viewed logically, it made no sense at all, but Harry knew a lot about wearing masks to hide part of himself away, and he desperately wanted to know what lay behind Snape's. From everything he knew of the man, they had a frightful amount in common.

Calmer now, Harry started back to Gryffindor Tower, formulating his plan as he walked. He would have to put his best foot forward; Snape could sniff out a plot faster than a Niffler could find gold. He would have to keep his thoughts honest and his mind open. Snape demanded respect; Harry would treat him as kindly as he did Dumbledore. It would take time, probably the entire term, but when it came to sheer determination, few were ahead of Harry Potter.

~*~

"Today, we will explore in some detail the brass section." Snape lectured for a bit, discussing all the various members of the trumpet, horn, trombone and tuba families, from piccolo trumpets to contrabass tubas. He played excerpts from _Young Person's Guide_ , and then had them listen to something from _William Tell _. They listened to some symphonies and the finale from _Firebird_. Though he was unwilling to move from the back of the theatre, Harry paid strict attention, even jotting notes in the booklet he'd been given the day before.__

__"Our guest today is second trumpet Kenisha Rathbun from the Royal Philharmonic Society of Leeds," announced Snape as he drew back the curtains. A middle-aged woman with beautiful dark skin stepped forward and bowed. When she stood, her smile was blinding. Even white teeth gleamed in a face the colour of pecans and she waved excitedly at them with both hands._ _

__"I am especially delighted to be here today," she said in a voice as rich as Honeydukes Finest Chocolate. "Thank you so much, Severus, for your kind invitation." She smiled and applauded him. Harry applauded as well and Snape appeared bewildered by the attention. "I invite you all up on stage where you will have a chance to audition for my family. My brass family." The curtains opened to display a collection of instruments gleaming under the lights._ _

__There was a mad scramble, unlike the day before, and Harry found himself seated with a lapful of tuba as Kenisha demonstrated to each group the proper way to hold their instruments. "Now that you have become familiar with it, remove the mouthpiece…" She nodded as the tiny Hufflepuff, Wendy, popped the silver mouthpiece off a French horn. "Yes, yes. Just pull. They will come right off."_ _

__Harry worked the mouthpiece off and stared at it. It was shaped like a cup and, to his eyes, it looked as if a walnut could fit inside it. He pressed it up against his lips and blew, but nothing happened. Around him others were doing the same, all except Wendy, who seemed to know what she was on about, though she was making no more noise than the rest of them. He glanced to his right to see Susan down at the far end having no more luck with her trumpet mouthpiece than he was with the one for the tuba._ _

__A strange buzzing filled the hall and Harry's head snapped around as he searched for someone playing a kazoo. It was Kenisha. She was playing _Good King Wenceslas_ effortlessly through a small mouthpiece and dancing in time to the music. "Who tried to blow through the mouthpiece?" she asked once she'd finished the phrase._ _

__Everyone except Wendy raised their hands. "I can't get a proper buzz," she sighed._ _

__"I beg your pardon?" sniffed a Slytherin. "A proper…buzz?"_ _

__Kenisha explained how to tighten the lower lip and the corners of the mouth enough so that when Harry exhaled through his mouth, his lips buzzed. Before long the class was buzzing, varying the pitch and volume as they experimented. Had anyone else been teaching, the boys would have been reduced to making fart noises, but no one—especially not Harry—was interested in seeing how far they could push the professor._ _

__"Bravo!" Kenisha clapped her hands in delight. "Now see if you can play this note with me." She put the mouthpiece up to her lips and played. Matching pitch was trickier than extracting sap from a Snargaluff pod, but Harry did his best to play some sort of note. His lips buzzed and noise came out the other end, but it was nearly impossible to play the same note as their guest. They practiced for a few minutes until they could all produce some sort of sound every time._ _

__"Very good. Severus, will you work with the trombones for a moment whilst I work with the valves?" Kenisha gave Snape an encouraging smile and made a shooing gesture with her hand._ _

__"Very well." Snape ushered his three students to one corner of the stage whilst everyone else gathered around Kenisha, where she introduced them to something called 'transpotation', or something like that, and how it affected key signatures. Somehow, the notes they played were called one thing and sounded like something else. It was all very confusing to Harry and he couldn't figure out how anyone kept it all straight in their head. Kenisha gave them each a fingering chart that was supposed to help each one play the proper note at the proper time. There was a note on a staff, a letter underneath, and, above that, a diagram for which buttons to press._ _

__They started with no buttons pressed whatsoever and a horrendous cacophony erupted. It was as if every car horn in Britain was stuck on and shrieking at the other motor cars to get out of the way. Harry drew his head back and regarded the tuba with some caution. Whatever had come out of the bell of that instrument wasn't musical in the least, but it didn't seem to matter to Kenisha. Whilst Snape scared the trombonists senseless, Harry and the others struggled their way through a scale as they attempted to match the note on the page to the note they were supposed to play._ _

__Harry's sense of accomplishment lasted for about five seconds. Before he could even catch his breath the tuba vanished and he found himself with a French horn in his hand and a mouthpiece that looked too small for a pea. It wasn't, of course, but after playing on the tuba, the thing looked like it had run afoul of a shrinking charm._ _

__After spending time with their new instruments, the trumpet students were sent to Snape, the French horn players moved to trumpets and those who had started with the trombones took over for the tubas._ _

__They took a short break, chatting excitedly (or not) amongst themselves and compared notes. Harry enjoyed the horn more than the tuba, was vaguely interested in the trumpet and couldn't wait to try his hand at the trombone—but only because Snape was there. Susan, on the other hand, didn't enjoy playing any of them, but admitted if she had to choose, she'd play horn._ _

__As the time came to put his scheme into action, Harry's heart hammered. He knew there would be a moment when Snape would gaze at him with suspicion, convinced that Harry was here for reasons other than his enjoyment of music, and that was when Harry would strike. He was still a horrible Legilimens, probably always would be, but all he had to do was crash into Snape's Occlumency shields and Snape would be on him like a kneazle on a pixie._ _

__The opportunity came sooner than Harry thought. The moment he approached a trombone, Snape's eyes narrowed and he watched Harry's every movement with a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes._ _

__As he sat, Harry pushed his thoughts at Snape, his longing, his loneliness, his deep-seated desire for a strong, loyal man who would see him not as a saviour, but as a bewildered young man with too heavy a burden and in sore need of someone to call his own. He pushed through to Snape his rage, his jealousy at seeing Richard Abernathy take liberties with _Harry's_ Severus. He did his best to show Snape this was no joke, that he wanted him with a force that left him breathless._ _

__Snape reeled back, disguising his astonishment in a clumsy stumble as though he'd tripped over his own feet. As if. For all his faults, Snape was as sure-footed as a cat. As expected, Snape ignored Harry whilst he explained how to assemble a trombone and demonstrated the proper way to hold it. He circled around them, stalked more like, and corrected their positions. When he came to Harry, he bent low and murmured softly in his ear. "It's not a prick, Potter. Hold the slide with just your fingertips." He rested his right hand on Harry's shoulder and tapped Harry's left middle finger. "On the other side of the bar." As he straightened, he trailed his fingers along the nape of Harry's neck._ _

__Harry kept his eyes firmly on the bell of the trombone and resisted the urge to squirm. His prick surged to attention and what blood didn't flow there flooded his cheeks. What game was Snape playing? Harry was holding a Slytherin by the tail and had no idea what to do with it. He ignored the whisperings from the other two students and kept his attention focussed solely on Snape._ _

__"Now that you know how to hold your…instrument, bring it to your lips and blow." Harry locked eyes with Snape and buzzed his lips. A herd of Highland cows might have wandered onto the stage for all the lowing and bellowing going on, but Harry kept his expression open._ _

__A few barked instructions later, Snape had them all playing the same note, more or less. "Now, tighten your lips and try to play the first harmonic. That means playing a higher note without moving the slide."_ _

__Instead of drawing his lips back, Harry pressed his lips together tighter. The sound changed, but not the note, which drew Snape's attention. He stood behind Harry and touched his index fingers to the corners of Harry's mouth. "Tighter…here," he murmured. "You will notice what Potter is doing wrong," he announced. "Be certain you pull your lips back as though snarling."_ _

__Once the three of them could move between the low note, called the fundamental, and the octave above it, Snape had them move the slide to what he called the third position. "There are seven positions…Harry." Snape's voice was low, sultry, and Harry shivered._ _

__"I reckon you can think of a few more," he whispered back before bringing the trombone up to his lips. He moved the slide out to the bell, the third position, and spent the remainder of the afternoon following Snape's instructions to the letter. He was warm and friendly, teasing lightly when Snape tried to bait him. Every time their eyes met, Harry assured him, 'Yes, I want this. Yes, I want you.' After the fifth or sixth time, Snape didn't react._ _

__When the lesson concluded, Kenisha handed out more booklets, these with illustrations and the histories of the instruments in the brass family. There were more lessons in reading music and musical notation and simple exercises to master for each instrument. "Should any of you wish to continue, please let your professor know and we will arrange private tuition for you. And now, class is dismissed. Bravo, everyone! Bravo!" She applauded and swept her arm as if inviting them all to stand. "Up. Up. This is when you take your bow."_ _

__Harry stood awkwardly, fumbling with the trombone and narrowly missing the music stand with the bell. He caught Snape's eye and bowed respectfully. Snape arched a brow and nodded his head ever so slightly._ _

__Even though the formal part of the lesson was over, Kenisha and Snape took a moment to teach them how to clean and pack away their instruments, and as before, she left them in the care of the house-elves to transport safely._ _

__"Potter, a moment, if you please," said Snape as Harry turned to leave._ _

__Harry should have expected that. "Yes, sir," he replied and waited for the others to leave before he approached. He leant against a wall whilst Kenisha and Snape said their goodbyes. Once that was concluded, Harry approached when Snape beckoned._ _

__"Sit."_ _

__Harry sat, tucking his trembling hands between his legs. He watched as Snape paced back and forth across the stage, as though uncertain what to do with his new-found knowledge of Harry. Every once in awhile he turned and glared or studied or pondered, but resumed his pacing almost instantly._ _

__Snape came to a halt at one side of the stage and stared out into the seats. Wand in hand, he spun suddenly. "Legilimens." It was nearly a hiss._ _

__Harry should have expected it. Unlike in those wretched Occlumency lessons, though, Snape was far more deliberate as he rifled through Harry's memories. Harry offered no resistance. Wisps of recollection speeded by: what little he knew of Scriabin and Stravinsky, of von Karajan and Bernstein, of the philharmonics from LA to Berlin, hours spent in his cupboard listening to the Proms. He sat stoically through reminders of his worthlessness, of being soundly thrashed for daring to touch Aunt Marge's piano, his jealousy at hearing Dudley reject trumpet lessons when he wasn't afforded the opportunity at all._ _

__Then Snape found memories that were more recent, more personal. Those he reviewed with more care. He examined thoroughly Harry's memory of his conversation with Lupin and Sirius after 'The Pensieve Incident' and witnessed Harry's sea change of opinion upon learning how Snape had actually tried to rescue him from the Department of Mysteries. He saw dreams and fantasies, many of which involved someone who looked strikingly like himself. And Harry let him see._ _

__Snape withdrew from Harry's mind with the delicacy of a lover's kiss. He sank into a nearby chair and gazed wearily at Harry. Snape appeared so lonely and forlorn that Harry's heart ached. "I need time to understand this," said Snape hoarsely after a long, long minute. "You will behave in your normal, thoughtless fashion tomorrow, and after the lesson is over we will speak again."_ _

__Harry came to his feet and took a step towards Snape, but his intuition told him to come no closer. "I meant it, you know. What I said." He gathered up his things and left Snape sitting in the darkness of the theatre.  
_ _

~*~

Harry went into the Great Hall for dinner and sat at his usual spot. As usual, a few heads turned at his entrance and he wondered idly what new rumours were being attached to his name. He found Ginny and Hermione sitting at the table, nursing a wide assortment of bumps and bruises. Ron, he learnt, was in the hospital wing with a broken collarbone, the result of a mid-air collision. All things considered, he got off lightly. Katie Bell had broken her leg in three places.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital wing as well?" asked Harry as he pushed his green beans around on his plate.

Ginny shrugged and lightly touched the massive bruise along her jaw. "Not worth it. A bit of Bruise Paste and they'll be gone by morning. At least no one was run through, though it was a near thing."

"One of the Slytherins 'forgot' we're not wearing armour," said Hermione crossly. "McGonagall assigned him detention for after the start of term." Harry flushed and looked away. Hermione's gazed at him archly. She was becoming more like McGonagall every day. "What have you done?"

"I may have been a bit cheeky," admitted Harry. Or, he could have been honest or flirty or knowledgeable, none of which he was willing to confess to. A bloke was entitled to a few secrets. "But it's Snape. I might have been breathing. Sometimes, it's hard to say. But he gave us a trombone lesson today." Harry spent a solid twenty minutes talking about his meagre attempts at playing brass instruments. "We'll have woodwinds tomorrow, strings on Friday."

"Oh, Harry." Harry was certain Hermione's smile was meant to be commiserating, but the sympathy she was offering was for all the wrong reasons. For a brief moment he considered spilling his guts, but he needed to hold this secret close for a little while longer. "Still," she mused, "it must be fun to get to try playing them."

"It's been loads of fun, actually. I thought we'd spend a week listening to music and listen to Snape go on and on about themes and motifs and what-not, but it's been brilliant getting to try them out. I'd no idea it was as hard as it's turned out to be, though. How's archery going?"

Whilst Hermione lectured, Harry watched Snape eat his supper. From time to time, he thought Snape might be shooting glances in his direction, but from this distance it was hard to tell. He and Dumbledore were speaking a bit more than usual, though that implied Harry noticed how much the two of them actually spoke.

"And then she took us into the Forbidden Forest and paired us up to hunt unicorns. Naturally, she paired me up with Mercedes Davies—"

"Who?"

There was a pause and Hermione gave him _that_ look. "Did you really imagine McGonagall would send us into the Forest to hunt unicorns?"

Over the years, Harry had learnt to listen to Hermione's tone rather than her words, so he thought himself to be a bit of an expert at listening with one ear. Apparently he wasn't as skilled as he thought. "No?"

"Harry Potter! Professor McGonagall absolutely would not send us to hunt unicorns. How could you even think for a moment she would?" She blew out an exasperated sigh. "Finish up and come with me to the common room. It's clear we need to talk."

"Who is that Mercedes person?" Harry persisted. Anything to get Hermione off the subject. "Roger's sister? Is she in Ravenclaw too?" 

"Mercedes Davies is a fourth year Slytherin, and as far as I know, she is not related to Roger Davies." Harry hated it when Hermione pronounced Every Single Word, but her expression softened into one that Molly Weasley frequently wore. "It will be alright, Harry." There it was, the official pronouncement that Hermione knew he had something on his mind. Harry resigned himself to a long night.

~*~

The woodwind lesson mirrored the brass lesson almost exactly except, instead of a warm-hearted woman giving them tuition, they had a humourless man called Nikolai Viedemann. He could have been Snape's cousin for as much as they resembled each other. Viedemann had a long, hooked nose, and deepset beady eyes that looked upon them as if they were murderers and thieves. His dark brown hair was short on the sides and long on top and his colourless face was pale to the point of seeming sickly.

After a perfunctory introduction, Viedemann pointed at each of them in turn and assigned them an instrument. To her obvious disappointment, Susan was assigned to the clarinet whilst Harry drew the flute.

"Oh, joy," he muttered when Susan offered to trade.

"You will take the seat assigned to you and you will do as you're told." Harry cringed inwardly at the censure in Snape's tone, but normalcy was what Snape wanted so that's what Harry would give. Anything to prove the seriousness of his intent. So Harry rolled his eyes.

Once they were settled, Viedemann performed excerpts from _Peter and the Wolf_ , some Mendelssohn, a bit of Berlioz, and something by a Russian composer, demonstrating his versatility on all of the primary woodwind instruments.

Harry then endured a painfully dry lecture on the trials and tribulations of playing a reed instrument. Viedemann handed the four clarinet players a box from which they could choose a reed. While he demonstrated how the mouthpiece worked, Harry amused himself by toying with the keys on the flute. Since there were more keys than fingers, he watched to see which keys closed when he pressed down on them.

"Does Mr Viedemann strike you as the sort who enjoys repeating himself, Mr Potter?"

Harry's head came up sharply and he found himself the centre of some very unwelcome attention. Glancing at Viedemann briefly, he turned his attention back to Snape and shrugged. "It's hard to say, sir. I mean, you enjoy listening to yourself talk." Harry hated saying the words that came out of his mouth, but what else could he do?

Snape shot daggers at Harry. "Well done, Mr Potter. You are the first student to whom I have given three detentions whilst school is out of session. Your father would be so proud."

Anger flashed through Harry. "You leave my father out of it." Snape whirled sharply. "Sir," added Harry silkily. Snape locked eyes with him and Harry begged silently. _Please. I'm trying, but I'm not him._

Viedemann crossed his arms and tapped his finger repeatedly. "I wonder, Mr Snape, if your students possess the ability to appreciate the many nuances of the wind section. My time is more valuable than their meagre attention spans would seem to suggest."

A vein throbbed in Snape's temple. "I assure you, Nikolai, they are volunteers, not conscripts, though Potter, I fear, may have lost a beat with one of his lunk-headed friends." Snape sidled over to the temperamental musician and said _sotto voce_ , "Gryffindor. You know how it is."

"Ahh. I do, indeed." Viedemann returned to his lecture on single reeds. Once the clarinet students were situated, Viedemann began again with the double reeds. At this rate, it would be late February before they were allowed to actually try out the instruments lying across their laps. The two Slytherins and the other Gryffindor assigned to the flute struggled to appear interested. As Snape said, it was unlikely that Viedemann would repeat any information for their benefit.

After that stultifying lecture—truly, the man could rival Binns for his ability to command an audience—Viedemann went on and on about lips and teeth and the musculature of the mouth. Not even the Ravenclaws could pretend to be interested.

At long last, the clarinets were allowed to blow through their mouthpieces. It sounded to Harry like they were making duck calls. They squeaked and squawked, producing nothing that could remotely be called music. Susan's cheeks puffed out and her face turned red, but, unlike the others, she couldn't make any noise at all. Wendy the Wonder-puff had no trouble with her oboe reed at all.

The oboes joined the cacophony a moment later whilst those with flutes in their laps continued to sit there. It was only after Viedemann was satisfied with the ghastly sound being produced that he turned his attention to Harry and the others. To Harry's bewilderment, he was handed a drinking straw. He held the straw as he would his wand and struggled to comprehend how to use it.

"Place the straw between your lips and hold it straight out in front of you," instructed Viedemann. "Do not use your teeth." He demonstrated for them and Harry replicated the action. "Now blow." Harry's straw flew out of his mouth and hit the music stand. Snape's lip twisted and Harry felt his cheeks grow hot as he fetched it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Slytherin bend down to pick up his and Harry felt a little better.

"Use the fine muscles of your lips and hold it in place," said Viedemann with a very Snape-like gleam in his eye. Harry could almost hear the 'dunderhead'. "Try again. Feel what your lips are doing. Wiggle the straw a bit." Viedemann had them practise for nearly five minutes before having them remove the straws and hold the flute mouthpieces up to their lips.

By the time Harry produced a sound, he was lightheaded and a bit dizzy. It was a thin, breathy sound, but it was audible. That had to be a good thing. After another lesson on assembling the pieces of their various instruments, they worked on playing a scale. By the end of the lesson, Harry decided he liked the oboe best, though it was the hardest to play. Wendy wanted to know why they didn't get to try a bassoon, only to be told it was a NEWT level instrument and at their rate, they'd be lucky to reach that level of competence by their fiftieth birthdays.

Claiming an imminent rehearsal, Viedemann fled the small theatre a bit earlier than they were scheduled to end. "Guess we made an impression," said Harry as Snape was left to distribute plastic recorders and lesson books. Apparently, the fingering was fairly similar from instrument to instrument, so it was supposed to be easier to learn. It was something to do. Better than worrying about Voldemort, at any rate.

Unbidden, Harry lingered in the theatre after the lesson. He pulled a chair to the centre of the stage, reversed it and straddled it, dangling his clasped hands over the back. He said nothing, electing to watch Snape instead. To Harry's eyes, Snape appeared exhausted and he wondered if the man had slept.

Snape set a chair nearby and sat down, resting his foot on his knee. He leant back and placed his folded hands across his stomach. "I've been considering all I learnt about you yesterday. At first, I was willing to write this off as the most ridiculous schoolboy crush in the history of Hogwarts, but even I am not so callous as to dismiss your feelings," Harry wondered how he could make the word sound so loathsome, "out of hand.

"It is true," admitted Snape, "there are times I am lonely. Yet, I am reluctant to seek companionship from a sixteen-year-old boy."

"Why? I don't pretend to have all the answers. In fact, I'm not certain I have any answers, but I reckon you can work out why I'll never find some from someone my own age." Harry blew out a long breath. "Look, I'm not normal. No one in my position can be, but it's all I want for myself. To be normal. Since I can't have it, I have to look for someone strong enough to put up with all the shite that comes with being the Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived." Harry fairly spat the phrase.

Snape sat in quiet reflection for a long time. "If this is something you truly want, there will be rules, many of them, and should you break even one of them, it's over and once it's over, it's finished. There will be no maudlin displays of emotion. I will have no regrets. Nor should you. Experiments fail regularly. There is no reason why this should be any different."

"Sometimes they work out, too."

"You're sixteen bloody years old, Potter. Don't start thinking about 'happily ever after' at your age. They never work out."

"I can't promise anyone a happily ever after," Harry pointed out. "I may very well be dead by this time next year." He had come face to face with his own mortality at age eleven and knew he had an avowed murderer of children wanting nothing more than to see him dead. It definitely put a crimp on living to a ripe old age.

Snape scrubbed a hand over his face. "A valid point. Very well. First, you will inform the headmaster that we have embarked upon a courtship of sorts."

Harry blinked and sat up. "A courtship? But you just said—"

"I know full well what I just said, but we live in a world that has yet to emerge from the earliest days of Victoria's reign. 'Dating' is not a word that suits us. In addition, there are certain standards of behaviour that will assure Dumbledore that we are merely dipping a toe into uncharted waters, which brings me to the second rule.

"There will be no sexual congress whilst you are a student here. I will not be your little experiment. If you see me as little more than an itch that requires scratching, look elsewhere. I will not take it amiss should you seek to…" Here, Snape paused and looked away. "Relieve certain needs with someone much closer in age."

"What?" exploded Harry. "I don't cheat. I never have done—"

"I wasn't aware you've had any relationships at all."

"Well, there was Cho Chang," said Harry. "That didn't really work out too well. There was Cedric and then there was wishing she was more, well, boyish, I suppose." And wishing she was more Snape-ish as well, but Harry thought that wouldn't go over particularly well. "But any itches I might have I'll take care of on my own, thanks," continued Harry with as much dignity as he could muster. "What about you, though? I saw you with that Abernathy bloke," added Harry darkly.

Snape's eyebrows lowered into a straight line and his eyes were hard. "Spying again, Potter? I had wondered what led you to believe I was an eligible recipient of your attentions."

"I wasn't spying. Either time, come to that, and I would have apologised for that one had you given me a chance. I wanted to know what secrets Dumbledore was keeping from me, so I looked in your Pensieve. I figured he knew what Volde…what the Dark Lord wanted in the Department of Mysteries. He wanted me to trust you, so it seemed like something he would have told you about." Harry met Snape's eyes. "You can look if you want. I've nothing to hide."

Snape shook his head. "I will take you at your word. I expect us to be absolutely truthful with each other. We will have no secrets from one another, especially as concerns the Dark Lord." As he leaned forward, the tip of his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Harry found it fascinating. "I want to be free of him at some point during my lifetime, but we are not likely to prevail if Dumbledore is forced to parcel out information to each of us separately."

Harry shifted nervously. "I'm not certain he'll be pleased about that."

"On the contrary, Potter—"

"Do you suppose you could call me Harry? The less you think of my dad when you look at me, the better."

"Then perhaps you ought to put forth some small effort to look like your own person," snapped Snape.

Harry blinked. "Like what? As far as I know, the Gryffindor robes haven't changed in about a hundred years and there's not much I can do with my hair." He grabbed a few strands and pulled lightly. "It even grows back overnight if I cut it."

"Perhaps change the style of your spectacles or forgo them altogether?"

"These?" Harry pulled them off and squinted at them before peering at the hazy outline of Snape. Everyone told him he had his mother's eyes and she had been Snape's best friend. Perhaps Snape would more inclined to treat him well if he reminded Snape of her. "I need these, I'm afraid, and I've no idea where I'd go to replace them."

"St Mungo's would suffice. If your vision is that poor, they may be convinced to correct it, though I understand it takes a few days. Nevertheless, that was going be another rule. When we are alone, and I mean alone, not merely out of earshot of others, I will endeavour to use your name and you will use mine. The only exception is when we're meeting with the headmaster."

Harry nodded soberly. "Is that one of the rules that ends our relationship? I mean, I've just got used to calling you 'Professor'."

Snape's expression soured. Harry burst out laughing. "I was joking…Severus. Teasing you. It's what friends do." A warm smile emerged, sweet, mirthful, directed fully at Severus Snape, who appeared absolutely gobsmacked to find himself encompassed by it.

"No," agreed Snape. "It will take some time for us to become accustomed to using each other's given names, but again, it provides a segue to yet another rule: this relationship must remain secret. We will devise some sort of cover story—"

"Not Remedial Potions," declared Harry firmly.

Snape rolled his eyes. "It might have escaped your notice, _Harry_ , but I am teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. Horace Slughorn is teaching Potions. I believe he's even collected you, if the rumours I've heard are true." Snape's eyes narrowed as he arched a brow. "That you were invited to Horace's little soirees and Draco Malfoy was not was quite the topic of conversation within Slytherin House."

"Must have been the first time in Draco's life he heard the word 'no'," said Harry with an evil little grin. "Speaking of, what do you know about his scheme? I know he's up to something. He's got Crabbe and Goyle covering for him, he's missed Quidditch matches, and he vanishes for hours at a time. Ron and Hermione are convinced I suspect him of being up to no good because he's Malfoy, but I _know_ him. He's mired in something up to his scrawny neck."

Snape's tongue came out again and travelled around Snape's lips. Harry envied it the journey. "That will be a conversation we have with the headmaster," he said at last.

"Why can't we just share?" asked Harry.

"Because we are of a like temperament and both prone to be suspicious of each other's motives. We require a mediator, especially now when the bonds of trust have yet to be fully formed. Do not press me on this, Harry. We must tread lightly lest our relationship imperil others."

A degree of caution was probably warranted, Harry decided, especially since Snape knew so much more than he did. "Very well. I'll think of some reason to spend time with you. Are there any other rules I should know about?"

"Not at the moment," said Snape. "One thing, though. I do not ask of you anything I do not expect for myself. Remember that." Snape rose from the chair. "I will see you at dinner." He turned to leave but Harry stopped him.

"Wait." Harry took a hesitant step forward. "May I kiss you first? Before you leave?" Snape stared blankly. Harry took another step closer. "I've only ever snogged Cho," he stammered. "Actually, she kissed me and she was crying and I'm pretty sure—"

Snape must have had enough of Harry's yammering. He swooped in and kissed Harry with all the single-minded attention to detail he appeared to pay to even the most mundane of potion recipes. Harry's lips parted as Snape teased lightly at them with the tip of his tongue. Gooseflesh rose along Harry's arms, though he wasn't cold in the least. Far from it. Heat seared through his veins and he tingled all over. Snape's arms enveloped him and he felt a cool hand against a flushed cheek.

Harry's heart tripped along merrily and he returned the kiss with far more enthusiasm than finesse. It was only his second kiss, but a million more just like it wouldn't be enough. When Snape released him, Harry was nearly certain he'd forgotten how to breathe. He gasped and touched his tingling lips, his eyes wide and bright. "And here I thought catching the Snitch was the best thing ever."

Snape laughed, a rich melodious sound that made Harry giddy. He offered a shy smile. Snape cupped Harry's face and kissed him lightly. "Go."

Harry gathered his things and left, grinning madly and feeling lighter than air.

~*~

Friday arrived much more quickly than usual and Harry was practically bouncing in his seat as time came for their last lesson. Unlike Hermione and Ginny, who marched off to their archery class as though heading into battle, Harry could hardly wait for two o'clock to roll around. Ron was giving serious consideration to skiving off Aerobatics, convinced that Pince was a madwoman whose only goal was to see every last one of them carted off to St. Mungo's, but Harry was able to persuade him to finish the class.

When he arrived at the theatre, the lights were dim and the curtains closed. He took his customary seat and waited. As Susan sat down, she gazed at him curiously. "I don't think I've ever seen you this excited before."

"It's Friday. We're nearly done." He paused and made a quick decision. "And I really like strings," he confessed. "I really want to trying playing one."

"Me too," said Susan. "I want to try the cello. It's so lovely. What about you?"

That he'd have a choice was something Harry had never considered. He'd never expected to have the chance to play any instrument at all. "I've no idea. All of them, I suppose." He sat back, his eyes trained on the curtain, and waited for it to open.

Once the class was assembled, the theatre went black, just as it had on the first day. There were no cries of alarm and no wands came out. No one whispered 'Lumos' and a ripple of anticipation raced through the small audience. Harry heard the rustle of the curtains drawing back and he peered through the gloom to try to make out what might be on stage.

A low note sounded, and another, and Harry recognised immediately the opening notes of the _Unfinished Symphony_. This time, though, it was being sung by a lone cello. As the last note of the first theme faded away, the lights came on to reveal Snape seated in the middle of the stage, a beautiful cello between his legs.

"I trust every one of you can name that passage," he said. 

Harry didn't raise his hand or wait to be called upon. He named it in its entirety and then added, "Will you play the second part for us? And the second theme?" To his delight, Snape played both passages before launching into some other famous passages for the cello. There was loads of Tchaikovsky and some Beethoven. A bit from Dvorak's _New World Symphony_. Then Snape played a Bach partita. 

Quite simply, Harry forgot to breathe. He didn't even know he was holding his breath until he swayed in his seat. How could such an embittered, cynical, antagonistic man make such beautiful music? There was so much joy and happiness in his playing that Harry was amazed. This, then, must be what brought Snape peace. For a moment, he resented that Dumbledore had forced Snape to share that part of himself with others, but upon reflection, decided it certainly couldn't hurt Snape's reputation any if his students knew that he actually had a heart. A lump rose in his throat as the final notes faded away and he swallowed heavily.

Snape laid the cello on its side and waved his wand. Nine chairs arranged themselves in a semi-circle. Three tall stools were in a row to the right. "Find a seat whilst I bring out the instruments."

Harry followed Susan up onto the stage. She took the seat all the way to the right whilst Harry sat right in the centre. Wendy sat opposite Susan, striding up to the chair as if she owned it. Five minutes later, Harry discovered why. Wendy had played violin from the time she was five years old and was already quite accomplished. One of the Slytherins played a bit as well, but was nowhere near being in Wendy's league.

"Ms Kendrick, please assist the others with their shoulder rests and bows whilst I work with the cellos and double basses for a moment," instructed Snape as Harry found himself with a viola and bow in his hands. He studied the instrument for a moment, examined the two f-holes, the ebony neck, the pegs embedded in the scroll at the top. He peered at the ornate bridge propping the strings up and tried to work out how they were attached at the bottom. 

He listened carefully as Wendy explained the workings of the bow and how to hold the viola properly. It felt a bit awkward getting his left elbow under the instrument and he started to twist his hand around until she told them to make certain their palms were facing them directly. He tucked the thumb of his right hand into the frog of the bow—silly name for it, he thought—and balanced it with his pinky on the nut that adjusted the tension of the bowstrings.

"Professor, they're all ready, but we've not tuned up yet."

"We will get to that presently, Ms Kendrick." He helped one of the Ravenclaws with a double bass, studied her for a moment, and then reduced the size of it with a flick of his wand. "String instruments," he said as he sat in front of the group, "are sized for the players. If I were to guess, I would say that Ms Kendrick started with a quarter-sized violin. Some smaller cellists will play instruments that are seven-eighths scale. Violists will select the size instrument that suits them best. This is not true of brass and wind instruments.

"We have spoken very little about tuning, about making certain that the A that everyone is playing is exactly the same. With woodwind and brass instruments, much of intonation depends on the player. Strings, though, are either in tune or they are not." He played the top string of his cello. "Ms Kendrick."

Harry looked over to see what Wendy was doing, but she lifted the violin to her shoulder and played the same note. She must not have been satisfied with it, though, since she started fiddling with one of the pegs. Then they each began playing two strings at once. Harry had no idea what they were doing.

"Most strings are tuned in perfect fifths," said Snape. "Double basses are tuned in fourths." He loosened a couple of pegs on his cello. "Listen carefully and see if you can determine when the strings are in tune." He drew the bow across two strings and something discordant came out. Harry knew it was wrong, but he couldn't have been able to say what the matter was. He just knew it made the hair at the nape of his neck stand up. Snape tightened a peg and the dissonance decreased. Suddenly, it was as if magic had happened and Harry _knew_ why the interval was called a perfect fifth. He no longer heard two distinct notes, though there were two pitches being played. The sound merged and blended into something, well, perfect. It was almost a relief.

"You heard Ms Kendrick match her A string to mine. Then she tuned her strings to her A. If she and I tuned properly, our strings will match. Play your A for us."

As far as Harry could tell, they were playing the same note, though Snape's was an octave lower. Snape moved to the D string and Wendy did the same. He played the G string and Wendy's matched his as well. "The cello and viola have a C string below the G string. The violin has an E string above the A," he explained when he stopped. "Now, everyone try to match our pitch. Keep your bow parallel to the bridge and play." He played his A and Harry dragged his bow across the string.

It was more challenging than Harry anticipated to play only one string at a time. They were so close together! It took several tries before he was able to play the A without playing the D along with it, but he didn't think his sounded exactly like Snape's or Wendy's. He gave one of the pegs an experimental turn, but he couldn't tell if anything happened. He turned it some more and a bit more. That was when he noticed the D string was sagging a bit.

He lowered the instrument and followed the string up the neck to the scroll to see which peg he was supposed to turn and quickly tightened the other one back up. When he found the right peg, there were so many different As being played that he had no idea which one was the right one. He tightened it a bit and hoped he'd done it properly.

It was over half an hour later when Snape gave them all a bit of a break and tuned up all the instruments himself. Rather than stand around and talk, Harry sat in the second row and watched Snape. He noticed that there were some little screws at the base of the instruments that Snape used as well as the pegs at the top. "They're for fine tuning," said Snape when Harry asked about it.

"Sir, can we stay where we are or do we have to change?" asked Wendy when Snape reassembled the small group.

Snape thought for a moment. "Anyone who wishes to remain where they are may do so. The rest of you may try something else if you wish. There are more instruments should we have need of them." It turned out they needed two violins and a cello, as none of the double basses liked the enormous instruments. One violin and one cello traded places, as did a viola and cello. Harry hugged his viola to his chest as the others shuffled around a bit.

Harry liked the viola. It wasn't quite as screechy as the violins and, as Snape explained, it sat quietly in the middle of things. Sometimes it doubled the second violins and sometimes the cellos, but mostly it stayed in the background adding a bit more depth to the sound of the string section. How nice it must be, thought Harry, to blend into the woodwork.

Snape had them squeak their way through a D major scale, which pretty much dissolved to giggling at how dreadful they sounded. At least Wendy and Snape gave them something to aim at, musically speaking. Still, Snape seemed pleased with their efforts.

"As a final examination of sorts," said Snape once they'd finished the scale, "we will attempt the American classic, _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_. If we manage to complete the song within a reasonable amount of time, we will attempt it as a round. I have no expectation we will manage to get that far." He flicked his wand and parts appeared on their stands.

"Mr Potter, name for us the first note."

Harry ran through the mnemonics he'd learnt, 'Every Good Boy Deserves Favour' and 'Good Boys Do Fine Always', and tried to work out which note came first. The viola was just a bigger violin, he reasoned, so it played higher notes. "I think it's a B, Sir," he ventured. Wendy opened her mouth, but shut with a sharp clack when Snape glared at her. The others were counting lines and counting on their fingers and staring at Harry in confusion.

"Mr Singh, do you agree with Mr Potter?"

The Ravenclaw to Harry's left stared at the music and up at Snape. "It's not a D?'

"It's alto clef," cried Wendy in acute frustration. Harry thought her another Hermione in the making. "'For All Cows Eat Grass'. Middle 'C' is in the middle. I'm certain you can work it out from there."

"Ahh." There it was, right at the beginning of the staff. Harry felt a bit foolish, but it was the first time he'd seen an alto clef since Tuesday. That seemed like a very long time ago. "That would make it a C, then."

"I'm impressed that you worked it out, Mr Potter, especially after Ms Kendrick handed you the answer on a platter."

"Well, I've seen you count on your fingers enough to figure out how it's done," Harry fired back. The man had kissed him to within an inch of his life yesterday, but today they were back in the proper roles: despised professor and loathsome student. Harry hated it.

Snape ignored the gibe. "Shall we begin?" He lifted his bow, counted out a full measure and led them through the first measure. It was, by any standard, a dismal first effort. Harry hadn't had that much fun since his first Quidditch practice. At the end of the lesson, Wendy led the violins and Snape led the violas and cellos in a round. Since each 'team' had someone who knew what they were doing, they actually mucked about enough to get through it three times. Harry counted it a wild success.

At the end of the lesson, Harry was reluctant to put the viola away. He knew he sounded like Buckbeak's screech when he played, but he wasn't ready to stop yet. He laid it down in its case and plucked a string. He felt himself being turned, and Snape gathered him up in his arms. Harry buried his face in Snape's neck and inhaled deeply. "If I weren't a wizard," he said after he'd drawn on the comfort Snape provided, "and if I hadn't grown up with my uncle, I think I would have liked to do something like that. Make music."

"Competition at the highest levels is fierce, but you're determined enough that I think you would have succeeded," said Snape, and Harry loved him for not offering him more useless platitudes. Snape kissed him lightly. "Though it's technically against the rules, I believe Dumbledore would allow me to teach you if you wish to learn."

Harry drew back, confused. "Which one of the rules is it against?"

"Not our rules," corrected Snape. "It's in my contract that I can only provide remedial instruction in my discipline, unless otherwise directed by the headmaster, but Albus adores you so I've no reason to doubt he'd approve of it."

"He approved of us," said Harry, his green eyes beaming. "He even said I'd do you some good. And he wants the three of us to meet every week."

"I still don't know where he came up with that 'three heads are better than one' nonsense," grumbled Snape, "though I suppose I should be grateful he didn't teach Arithmancy and leave it at that."

Harry looped his arms around Snape's neck and kissed him. It was a bit sloppy, but Harry tingled all over. "It will make a perfect excuse to see you, though I'll have to tell Ron that I really do like stodgy old music. I just hope he won't take the piss too often."

"Everyone grows up, Harry. Even Weasleys."

"And cantankerous old Potions masters," said Harry with a grin.

"Who are you calling old?"

"If the shoe fits, Severus."

"Oh, stick it in your ear," grumbled Snape. He closed the latches on his cello case and levitated it with his wand.

"I'd rather stick it in you," replied Harry with a laugh, "but I know the rules. I won't press." He sobered and met Snape's eyes. "I have a real chance at being happy, Severus. I don't want to muck it up."

Snape regarded him steadily. "Likewise, Harry. Likewise."

~*~

On Christmas morning, Harry awoke to find amongst his presents a small package, maybe four inches square, and as thin as a few sheets of parchment. His name was written on the outside of the bright gold and red wrapping paper, but there was nothing on it to indicate the sender. Curious, he opened the gift.

He pulled out four thin, square envelopes. In the centre of each one was a letter, A, D, G, and C, surrounded by curlicues. At the bottom in old-fashioned letters were the words "For Viola." He clutched them tightly for a moment and tried to contain his emotions. He started to put them in his trunk when he noticed a brief note scrawled on the back of the packet for the C string.

_Harry,_

_The instrument itself is in my office. Lessons will be at 7 o'clock on Wednesdays. You may practise in my office whenever you wish. I will provide you with the password at your first lesson._

_Happy Christmas,  
Severus_

Ron looked up as he unwrapped a Chocolate Frog. "Whatcha got, Harry?"

Harry turned, eyes sparkling. "Ron, there's something I need to tell you…"


End file.
